Wishes from Ashes
by niffizzle
Summary: Draco Malfoy is alone. He didn't return to Hogwarts, he has no interest in his old friends, and he is incapable of seeing either of his parents. As the holidays approach, any hope for a happy Christmas seems long lost. Little does he know, he isn't the only one struggling this holiday season. [D/Hr Advent 2019. One Shot.]


**Author's Note: Written for D/Hr Advent 2019. ****Infinite love to LightofEvolution for her beta help with this story and to everyone who nominated me to be a part of Advent this year. Also, a huge thank you to the organizers of this fest. It has truly been an honor! **

**Prompt: Fireplace**

* * *

Specks of delicate snowflakes melted the instant they fell upon the pane as a steady wind howled through the evening sky. The night was frigid, a fact not made any better by the dying embers fighting to stay aglow.

The clinking of an empty whiskey tumbler echoed through the otherwise silent townhouse. Dragonhide oxfords met the floorboards as their owner pushed himself out of the leather winged armchair and retrieved the steel poker. He prodded the pointed end into the charred wood until a healthy flame had reignited.

Merlin, he missed unrestricted use of his magic. Apparently, he couldn't be trusted with a basic _Incendio_ Charm after the mishap in the Room of Hidden Things — regardless of whether or not it was actually _his_ fault. But such was the life of Draco Malfoy nowadays.

He didn't bother sitting back down as he snatched the parchment off an end table and resumed reading the letter his owl had flown across the Channel to deliver.

_I understand why you decided not to return to Hogwarts this year, but I fear that you're isolating yourself. Miss Parkinson ought to be heading home for the Christmas holiday soon. Might you reconsider reconnecting with her? I share your disappointment that the Ministry once again denied my request to visit, but you can't spend your entire probation sulking in solitude. _

His mother's neatly scripted words taunted him. Of course he had decided not to return to Hogwarts. He had stepped into the castle seventh year as a king and left it a pariah. After that, no self-respecting wizard would voluntarily subject himself to a year full of leering stares and judgmental whispers.

Despite all that, Draco would happily endure that torture if it meant changing his family's present circumstances. It wasn't his father's twenty-year sentence in Azkaban that perturbed him. _That_ he could handle. Rather, it was the Wizengamot's ruling to permanently exile his mother while restricting Draco's travel to within British boundaries — a cruel way to keep the remaining free Malfoys separated.

Fuming resentment resurfaced within Draco. Crumpling up his mother's letter, he tossed it into the flames. The parchment's edges charred black before they began to curl in on themselves. Within moments, all that remained was a pile of indistinguishable ashes.

Draco stared into the fire, captivated by the flickering flames. It was then that a distant memory pushed itself forward.

_"Give that back!" _

_Draco held the envelope out of the young boy's reach. He had taken considerable interest in tormenting this particular student — a first year who had the great misfortune of being a Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin shortly after Voldemort's clandestine return. The boy had no place in this school, let alone this house, and Draco would remind him of that daily._

_He tore through the seal and read the envelope's contents. But instead of finding a letter addressed to his disgusting Muggle parents, the intended recipient was someone else. _

_"Father Christmas?" Draco jeered, having heard pieces about this inane Muggle practice. "Aren't you a bit old to be writing this?"_

_The boy jumped up, and Draco let him reclaim the parchment. "It's a holiday tradition," he defended. "You write a letter with your wishes and then burn it in the fireplace so the ashes float up the chimney and drift to the North Pole for Father Christmas to read."_

_Draco laughed. Of all the ridiculous Muggle things he had heard about, this had to be among the most preposterous._

Yet now, as the flames in his current fireplace died down again, Draco began to reconsider. He'd never had the need to wish for anything for Christmas. But life wasn't that easy anymore.

A summoned quill, inkwell, and piece of parchment soon appeared by Draco's side. He felt silly as he composed the note, disappointed in himself for submitting to what he still considered an absurd tradition, but at this point, he'd try anything. He could stand a bit of Christmas magic.

...

Puffs of chilled breath escaped Draco's lips as he perused the Diagon Alley window displays, seeking the right shop to enter.

His holiday shopping list wasn't long this year. Azkaban didn't allow packages, he and Goyle hadn't spoken since the passing of Crabbe, and despite his mother's insistence that they "reconnect," Draco had long ago given up pretending to be interested in Pansy. So that left one person. His mother.

The present needed to be special, something to lessen the bitterness of them being separated. But what in Merlin's creation could do such a thing?

There had been nothing of interest in Twilfitt and Tattings, nor in Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions. Growing up, Draco had put considerable stock into material things, but now they just felt wrong. His mother could buy the equivalent of any of those items in Paris for herself. Simply put, a present like that wouldn't suffice.

Stepping into Scribbulus Writing Implements, Draco wasn't feeling optimistic. Matters only got worse, however, when he heard his name called out from a familiar voice.

Draco glanced over his shoulder and groaned. He knew he should have made the trip to Diagon before the Hogwarts holiday break had begun, yet he had foolishly waited to learn if his mother would be permitted to visit. With only a week until Christmas, it was foreseeable that someone he knew would spot him. He had just hoped they wouldn't approach.

Yet Theodore Nott was presently heading his way.

"Look who's still alive!"

Draco sneered. "Wizarding Britain must be so disappointed."

Already, he wished this conversation would be over. He had never been particularly close with Nott and he didn't much care to start now — a fact Nott failed to pick up on.

"The dorm's a lot quieter without you blabbing on and on about Potter, Weasley, and Granger."

"How fortunate for you."

Nott didn't seem to notice Draco's curtness. "Could be worse. Most everyone outside of Slytherin ignores those of us who returned," he said with a shrug. "But never mind what's going on at Hogwarts. How are _you_ doing? I heard about your probation." His voice turned delicate. "And your parents."

Draco stilled, loathing beginning to coil inside his stomach. This was precisely why he hadn't wanted to run into anyone. He tightened his jaw, not answering the question.

After a few moments, Nott rested a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I get it, you know."

"Do you?" Draco sharply returned, promptly knocking Nott's hand from its place. His features hardened as he glared at his former classmate. "Our fathers may both be in Azkaban, but at least your mother is long dead."

"And how is that better?" Nott demanded.

Draco huffed. "If you have to ask, then you really _don't_ get it."

As he turned to exit, his afternoon found a way to get even worse. For standing a few feet away was Hermione Granger, her lips slightly agape as she stared at Draco. It was instantly obvious she had overheard the exchange with Nott.

_Great_. One of the absolute last people he wanted to interact with right now.

He scowled at Granger before storming out the door and proceeding to tramp back to the townhouse. Clearly, this entire trip to Diagon had been a massive mistake.

...

Two days passed and Draco was once again sitting in solitude inside his townhouse when a knock interrupted the stillness. He ignored it the first several times, but when the knocking persisted, he forced himself to answer, revealing a tangle of bushy curls.

"How do you know where I live?" he snarled, not the least bit interested in learning why Granger was presently standing on his front stoop.

"It's public record because of your probation."

"So let me guess," Draco spat, ire starting to build. "After overhearing my conversation with Nott, you decided to do some studying on the sorry state of your former enemy?" He glowered. "I don't want your pity. Good day, Granger."

He tried to close the door, but Granger blocked it.

"What about my sympathy?"

"Keep that too," Draco sneered. "And don't bother me again."

The door was about to swing shut when Granger's shout pierced through the opening. "You're not the only one whose life changed as a consequence of the war!"

Draco promptly flung the door back open. "Oh, yes. Your life must be _so_ difficult," he fumed, hardening his resentful glare. "Which aspect would you like to complain about? Are things too boring nowadays? No excitement now that there's nothing for you to scurry after Potter on his next world-saving adventure?"

An irritated glow started to streak across her cheeks. "Of course not."

"Ah, my mistake," Draco mockingly apologised. "Then does this pertain your break up with Weasley? It was hard to miss all those _Prophet _articles about it. Though, if you ask me, that would mean your life has improved even _more_ than I initially accounted for."

"Stop it," Granger hissed, her hands now clenched by her sides, but Draco didn't listen.

"No, no, I insist," he jeered instead. "Please tell me all about the woes of the Golden Princess and how they equate to mine." He shot her the cruellest snarl he could manage. "I'm sure your Muggle parents are just so proud of you."

A new level of outrage tainted every feature in her body. Her clenched fists began to tremble, her knuckles whitening.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she bitterly barked. She tore open a beaded handbag and dug something out of it. "I was only trying to be nice, but apparently, that's impossible for you to do."

She threw the object at Draco before stomping down the front steps.

Seeker reflexes intact, he caught the small item. His hand clamped around the object, unsure what it was. The texture was plush — not something one would throw at someone they were intending to hurt.

A tickled flapping brushed against his palm, and Draco loosened his grip. Free from its confinements, an enchanted knitted dragon not much larger than a Snitch stretched its yarn-woven wings and tilted its stout up towards Draco. He watched as the tiny dragon lifted off and flew around its new owner. That only lasted a few moments, however, before Draco snatched it out of the air and ran after Granger.

"What's this?" he demanded once he caught up to her.

"A peace offering," she shortly returned, keeping her focus forward as she continued down the pavement.

Draco moved in front of her to prevent her from proceeding any further. "But why?"

Her piercing glared tore into him. "Maybe if you took a moment to consider someone's troubles besides your own, you'll realise that you're not the only one hurting," she chided. "Because believe it or not, I think we're the only people who could possibly understand what the other is going through."

Draco huffed. "How could that be even remotely true?"

A glossiness glazed over her eyes. "Because my parents don't remember I exist."

Pain reflected in her gaze, and Draco immediately recognised the agonising heartache. It was the same he'd been enduring the past several months. He didn't know what had happened to Grangers' parents, but one thing was now undeniable — her life wasn't as easy as he had assumed.

Not knowing how else to react, Draco awkwardly cleared his throat. "Why don't you come inside," he said, surprised by his own genuine offer. "I'll put a kettle on, and we can talk."

...

The knitted dragon soared through the air as Draco poured them both a cup of tea.

"I tried everything," she continued to explain. "Attempted every Reversal Charm I could find and spoke with whatever memory healers would owl me back, but nothing worked. Even under the best circumstances, Memory Charms can only be reversed after a year, and once July came, I had to accept that the damage was irreversible."

Wisps of steam arose from her teacup, and Granger blew them away before taking a sip. "The whole process put a lot of strain on my and Ron's relationship. We were both going through a lot of grief after the war, but he kept making me feel guilty. He said I should consider myself lucky — at least my parents were still alive. He just couldn't understand why I was so torn up."

Her expression was soft as she peered at Draco. "But I imagine you do. The loss feels different. Because while I know my parents are out there, I also know I'll never be able to properly see them again."

Draco swallowed. "Which is what can make it harder than them being dead," he agreed. "There's no sense of closure."

"Exactly."

The seeming finality of Draco's present situation no longer felt nearly as insufferable. At least he could still owl his mother and occasionally, his father. And eventually, whenever the Wizengamot decided that Draco had properly proven himself, there was a chance his travel restriction would be lifted.

Granger stared downward while a finger traced the rim of the floral patterned saucer. A bob travelled down her throat before she broke the silence that had fallen over them. "I was relieved when I saw you no longer live at the Manor."

"As I'm sure you read in my court file, my probation prohibited that," he said, not that he would have wanted to live alone in the massive ancestral home anyway. "Alongside a restriction on all magical transportation and a whole slew of 'potentially dangerous' charms."

Granger looked up, a slight pucker in her forehead. "But I didn't see anything in the file that prohibited you from returning to Hogwarts."

Draco set down his teacup. "That is correct."

"Then why didn't you come back?"

Draco almost laughed at the question, thinking that the reason should be obvious. Yet Granger appeared sincerely curious.

"Do you really think I wanted to endure what another year at that school would be like for me?" he countered, maintaining a firm lock on her chocolate gaze. "You Gryffindor lot may talk a high and noble game, but we both know my presence wouldn't have been accepted had I returned."

Granger didn't seem to have a response to that, but from the shift in her posture, he could tell that she knew it was true.

"What about your NEWTs?" she asked instead. "Don't you want a career once your probation is over?"

A derisive scoff promptly filled the sitting room. "As if any respectable establishment would hire the infamous Draco Malfoy." With a short huff, he leaned back in his seat, avoiding Granger's gaze as he continued, "But it's fine. It's not as though I need the money."

"You didn't answer my question," Granger astutely remarked. "Do you _want_ a career?"

Draco shrugged. "Does that matter?"

"What will you do with your life otherwise?"

"The same thing I've been doing these past few months," he replied with a resigned sigh. "Nothing."

...

Hardly a day had passed when another knock pounded against his front door. It didn't take a notable wizard to conclude who it was.

"What are you—"

He couldn't even finish the question before Granger welcomed herself inside, the same beaded handbag tied around her wrist.

"You can't keep sitting here doing nothing, Malfoy," she said, not bothering to look at him as she headed straight to the sitting room and took the same seat she had been in the day prior. "Your probation will end eventually, and you need to have a plan for when it does."

Half her arm disappeared inside the handbag as, one by one, she removed a stack of textbooks. Each volume landed on top of the other with a heavy _plop_ until there were nine books in total.

Draco remained in the sitting room's door frame, observing the scene unfold, while her rambling continued.

"I already got permission from McGonagall and the Ministry for you to return to Hogwarts in June to take the final exams, provided that a Ministry employee accompanies you for the extent of your stay. That only gives you around six months to study, so we haven't much time to waste. We'll unfortunately have to skip over the spells that are on your prohibited list, but that still leaves the vast majority of the NEWT tested curriculum."

It was only then that Granger paused for the first time since barging into his home. She impatiently motioned at the empty seat beside her, as though expecting Draco to already be sitting there.

"I must have missed the part where I agreed to this," Draco drawled. He stepped into the sitting room and scanned his eyes over the array of books, quills, and other studying materials Granger had spread across the table.

"You may have resigned yourself to a life of nothingness after the war, but that's no way to live," she bluntly stated, appearing to have no interest in entertaining his protests. "If you have any hope to end your probation, you need to show the Wizengamot that you are making an effort to improve yourself, not just sit here and sulk."

He didn't like it, but Granger had a point. Without reason otherwise, the Wizengamot would happily maintain their restrictions on him. And getting to study magic without any judgemental stares was certainly appealing.

Draco assessed Granger as she unravelled a scroll of parchment and resumed her incessant babbling. But he paid no mind to her words this time.

There could be at least a dozen reasons why Granger had decided to help him. Pity. Boredom. General bookishness. But Draco was wise enough to infer the real reason. She needed something to take her mind off her parents while she was home from school. And in the final days leading up to Christmas, Draco wouldn't mind a distraction himself.

"Alright, Granger," he submitted, taking the empty seat beside her. "But we're starting with Charms, not Transfiguration."

...

Fringes of pale blonde fell into Draco's line of vision as he reviewed her parchment.

"This can't be right," he said, tapping to her directions for the Hiccoughing Solution. "You wrote that the Squill bulbs are best harvested in summer, and yet" — Draco reached across the table and cross-referenced his notes from last night's reading — "it said in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _that the bulbs are best harvested after flowering, thus indicating spring."

The comment had barely escaped his lips before the parchments were promptly jerked out of his grasp.

Granger skimmed both sets of notes. "I specifically remember Slughorn saying summer, _not_ spring," she said, her eyes scanning the words. She paused to raise an eyebrow. "Which, I might add, _is_ after they've flowered."

"But not _directly_."

"Who said it needed to be 'directly'?"

"The book."

"That's not in your notes."

"Doesn't need to be. I remember it."

"And _I_ remember what Slughorn said," she defended, no sign of backing down. She flashed him a taunting smile. "I _also_ remember Slughorn deeming your Hiccoughing Solution during sixth year as merely _'passable.'_"

"As if I harvested those Squill bulbs myself," Draco dismissed with a flippant wave. "But if you won't take my word for it, then by all means, read the passage yourself."

Their tower of books began to wobble until one pushed itself out and landed in front of Granger. The contents of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _flipped through themselves, stopping at the proper page.

Granger snatched the book and started to read.

_"Squill are most easily recognized by their signature, bright blue petals. Flowering occurs in the spring, after which time the plant turns dormant, thus meaning that the bulbs are best harvested…"_

Her cheeks flushed as a wide smirk dawned across Draco's lips.

"Care to complete that sentence?"

She slammed the book closed. "No, I do not."

His resulting chuckle rang through the townhouse, a sound he hadn't heard in months. "That's what I thought."

While Granger wouldn't have been his first choice in study partner, the past few days had been rather productive and, dare he say, enjoyable. There was still plenty he needed to master before the NEWT examinations, but he was easily picking up on the material he had missed so far that school year. With education hardly being his priority the past two years, Draco had forgotten how much he sincerely enjoyed learning magic. He was starting to feel like his old self again. Except… _different_.

An hour more studying passed before Granger called it quits for the night.

"We're behind on History of Magic but ahead in Arithmancy, so we should be able to catch up," she said, checking a few items off their study list. "But I'm adding chapter fifteen of _A History of Magic_ to your reading list since we won't be meeting tomorrow."

A sharp pang stabbed at Draco's insides. "Right," he said, his voice slightly faltering. "Christmas."

She seemed to stall at the mention of the holiday but quickly resumed gathering her belongings. Once everything was collected, she turned to Draco, her feeble smile not even close to reaching her eyes. "I'll see you in a couple days then."

Watching her walk towards the door, a sinking feeling numbed Draco.

"Or you could stay for tea."

Granger paused, curls bouncing as she turned back around. "Really?"

Draco shrugged. "Why not? It is Christmas Eve, after all."

The offer lingered for only a few moments before she accepted. "That actually sounds quite nice."

...

Glowing embers floated up the chimney as Draco stoked the wood.

"Do you want me to—"

"I've got it."

He blew at the underlying coals until the fire's warmth once more filled the sitting room.

"You seem to be faring alright with your magical restrictions," Granger commented when Draco rejoined her on the couch.

"I've managed," he said before taking a sip of tea. "Some are more difficult than others."

"Like the travel restriction?"

Draco tensed. "Yes."

She peered down at her cup. "I can only imagine."

A dry swallow travelled down his throat. "The Wizengamot decided that making my life an emotional hell is proper punishment for my sins, and now I must live with the consequences."

Silence fell over them for a handful of moments until Granger murmured, "It still feels extreme."

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, and he was once again confronted with her chocolate gaze. It was soft. _Sad._

Of all the witches and wizards in Britain, Draco would have originally expected her to be among the most agreeable to his sentence. But that wasn't the case. In a surprising turn of fate, they were presently enduring a similar hardship. And despite everything he had done to her, she didn't wish her pain on her own worst former enemy.

Draco cleared his throat, ready for a change in topic. "So what are your plans for Christmas?"

She set her tea on the table and drew in a slow, steady breath. "I don't have any."

"What?" Draco blinked in surprise. "Surely there must be no shortage of invitations for the Golden Princess."

A small snort flared through her nostrils, but her sullen tone quickly returned. "I originally planned on spending Christmas with the Weasleys, but Ron and I never properly resolved anything before I left, and I'm not ready to be surrounded by his entire family again."

Draco furrowed his brow. "Then what about Potter?"

"He'll also be at the Weasleys," she said with a sigh.

"Longbottom? Lovegood? Or why not have stayed at Hogwarts?"

Granger merely shrugged. "Everyone offered. McGonagall nearly insisted. But I didn't want to sully anyone's holiday when I knew I'd be a miserable guest."

Her eyes glossed over and sorrow stung in Draco's heart. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and placed a gentle, reassuring hand on her thigh. "I get it, you know."

He made to pull away, but before he could, Granger rested her hand on top of his. "I know you do."

A comfortable silence fell over them as Draco's thumb hesitantly started brushing over the inner curve of her hand. It had been ages since he had felt contact like this. She was smooth. Warm. And a sense of ease began to build inside him that felt entirely foreign.

"Do you have plans?" she softly asked.

Draco huffed, keeping his gaze downward as he watched the repeated motion of his thumb. "Unlike you, no one wants me at their Christmas." He let out a heavy sigh. "The only person I hoped to spend Christmas with was my mother, but the Ministry has repeatedly denied her requests to visit here and mine to visit Paris — not even for the holiday."

Something seemed to light inside Granger — a look Draco had learned to recognise as when a new idea had come to her. After several seconds of consideration, she asked, "What if you came to my place for Christmas?"

Draco snorted. "A bit of misery loves company?"

But Granger no longer appeared quite as melancholy. The prospect of them spending Christmas together appeared to have cheered her up. And Draco had to admit that it was starting to do the same to him.

"Okay," he accepted with a nod. "But only if there's no studying! It _is_ a holiday."

...

The heels of Draco's oxfords left an imprint on the pillowy sheet of white as he walked through the Muggle neighbourhood towards the address Granger had provided. Reaching the destination, he knocked. When no response came, he started to second guess himself.

Was he at the right place? Was Granger still sleeping? Or had all this been an elaborate scheme to ruin his Christmas even further?

But he knew that the last one couldn't be true. Over the past week, their years of bad blood had melted away like snow on a warm winter day. All that remained was a mutual understanding of the other's present struggles — and with it, a newfound respect.

After his fifth knock, a flustered Granger opened the door.

"Sorry, sorry," she spluttered. "Just got home."

Following her inside, Draco was about to ask where she had been when he became distracted by the home's furnishings. The place wasn't exactly large — nothing was compared to the Manor — but it was cozy. Plush couch, knitted blankets, roaring fireplace. But the part that stood out the most was the mantle, filled with framed photographs of Granger with two older adults.

It was then that Draco pieced together where he was. "Is this your parents' old place?"

Granger nodded. "It's the closest thing I have to them nowadays."

He expected her to sound more sullen, but she wasn't. He supposed having even the smallest reminders of them helped.

"I'm glad you have something," he said, but by this point, Granger was otherwise distracted.

Her vision fixated on the clock before she turned to him. "I have something for you."

Draco startled. "I didn't realise we were exchanging presents."

"We're not," she returned with a smile. "But I got something for you anyway."

She twisted her wand, and a wrapped box not much larger than his palm appeared in Draco's hands. As he held the gift, a sudden guilt consumed his thoughts. Not because he hadn't gotten anything for Granger — he just now realised that he had gotten so lost in studying, he had forgotten to buy his mother a Christmas present.

Granger didn't seem to notice his mental dilemma.

"Open it."

Tugging at the end of the bow, Draco slid off the top, revealing a parchment alongside two Muggle train tickets. Destination: Paris. Departure: In two hours.

Draco stared blankly at Granger. "You know I'm not permitted out of the country, even by non-magical means."

Her wide grin didn't falter in the slightest. "Read the letter."

Hands starting to tremble, Draco unfolded the parchment, stunned disbelief deepening with every word he read. When he reached the end, his jaw hung agape.

"When? _How?_"

"I owled Kingsley the moment I got home yesterday evening and worked with him through the night until just about an hour ago, we finally convinced the Chief Warlock to permit your travel for today, as long as I supervise you the entire time." A proud smirk appeared across her lips. "Turns out, being the Golden Princess has some perks."

Draco still couldn't believe it. "But why?"

Her expression softened. "Just because I can't spend Christmas with my parents doesn't mean you shouldn't get to spend it with one of yours."

His head was in a daze. Surely he must be dreaming. The tickets. The letter. His mother. _Granger…_

Before he fully realised what he was doing, Draco dropped the items, pressed both hands to her cheeks, and pulled her in for a swift kiss. The sweet tenderness of her lips connected with his and a blissful warmth buzzed through him. One kiss and the frigid coldness that had frosted his emotions finally thawed. For so long, he had been alone. Yet now, with her, he felt something that he hadn't felt in ages.

_Happiness._

When Draco pulled away from the kiss, he kept his eyes closed longer than necessary, terrified to see Granger's response to his rash action. But when he returned his vision and recognised the contended glimmer in her gaze, relief flooded through him.

He took a moment to simply look at her, soaking in her radiance as he recalled the desperation that had raged through him not so long ago.

"Last week, I burned a letter to Father Christmas with my wish for this year," he said as he gently cupped her cheek. "I never thought it would happen, but you made it come true."

Granger's eyes sparkled. "I'm glad I could help you spend Christmas with your mother."

But Draco shook his head. "That wasn't my wish. All I wanted this year was to not spend Christmas feeling so alone anymore."

His heart warmed as Granger leaned in and once more met his lips with a kiss.

"That's all I wanted this year as well."


End file.
